


Worth It

by babyrubysoho



Category: Big Bang (Band)
Genre: Dominant Bottom, GD is a Feisty Bottom, Gift Fic, M/M, Male Slash, Nyongtory, POV First Person, Sexual Humor, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 21:27:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14269887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babyrubysoho/pseuds/babyrubysoho
Summary: "Was it worth it?That’s the burning question. I sure as hell can’t decide; and so, as I might have a lot of time to kill before someone comes and rescues me, I’m handing over the question toyou."Seungri is of the opinion that he's taken a lot of flak from his Leader over the years, and it's high time he got some pampering too. Jiyong, on the other hand, is all about tough love. Which one will get his way...?





	Worth It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LuckyLucy92](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyLucy92/gifts).



> Happy birthday to Marine, whose sister commissioned this fic for her!
> 
> (Wish _my_ sister got me smut on festive occasions XD)  
>  Anyway, I hope you enjoy it :)
> 
> *Based on that hilarious episode of Radio Star, although I changed some of the dialogue.*

_Was it worth it?_ That’s the burning question. I sure as hell can’t decide; and so, as I might have a lot of time to kill before someone comes and rescues me, I’m handing over the question to _you_.

Okay. Spoiler alert: this might all be my fault. Maybe, _maybe_ I was feeling a bit bumptious, and perhaps _that’s_ why I got in trouble. Seungri in trouble, who’s surprised?

But here’s what happened, and you can judge for yourselves if I should regret it or not:

 

It’s the end of 2016, everyone is fit and well, and yada yada yada. Enough scene setting. Suffice to say we’re filming _Radio Star_ , and my comedy shtick’s doing pretty well with the hosts; even the _hyungs_ , unsupportive buggers that they are, have been joining in to help my jokes go over better. I don’t often get to be the centre of attention, you know (well, even if I do – yeah, shut up, okay – I don’t often _feel_ it), because it’s hard to pull focus from the two neon-haired beauties currently lounging on my right. But today even Jiyong (yellow) and Tabi (pink) are _grinning_ at me. Hey, I _am_ funny!

In this over-optimistic frame of mind I decide to tease Jiyong. That oughta be a ratings winner.

It usually goes okay: Yongie will roll his eyes or accuse me of inventing things, but he puts up with it ‘cos my insults often have a compliment hidden somewhere in the middle like a Kinder Egg toy. It’s hard _not_ to compliment him, you know? He’s my Leader, and objectively speaking there’s a lot to praise; it’s not only his perfect face and the charisma he effortlessly wafts around like cologne, it’s everything. Yeah, I admire him. Yeah, I want his attention! Today, though, in my wisdom I choose to roll with the theme of the afternoon and tease Jiyong about relationships. Can the lowly _maknae_ get away with that? You’ll see.

Jiyong endures it good-humouredly for a while, especially when Youngbae joins in and legitimizes my light-hearted attack – Jiyong will stand a lot from his best friend that he’d never, ever let me get away with on my own. Perks of being one of the privileged ‘88s, I guess. It’s only when I start blithely describing our Leader’s techniques for hooking girls and keeping them hanging that I begin to catch Jiyong’s change in expression: the whites of those pretty eyes with their rosy brown tint go wide in mock offense; then, as I continue to spill his secrets, I see them narrow. He’s evaluating me; he wants to see how far I’ll push it today. Well, I shall show him!

“This is great, more of this!” demand the presenters, falling about laughing as I announce the failure of all G-Dragon’s relationships.

“He’s making stuff up again!” protests Jiyong with one of his trademark pouts, because he’s nothing if not an entertainment pro. Youngbae sniggers; Jiyong sighs at him in fond exasperation before throwing me an exaggerated glare: the _maknae_ misbehaving and the Leader putting him in his place is a tried and tested Bigbang formula.

I carry on regardless; it’s too funny not to, ‘cos if there’s one thing that’s perfect variety show fodder, one thing Jiyong is fucking terrible at, it’s romantic relationships. I have _so_ many stories about this! Our Yongie can attract women in swarms, and hold them with almost no effort – he’s basically the seductive equivalent of flypaper – but he seems to have very little idea of what to do with them once he’s got them.

I know whereof I speak: long years as Jiyong’s roommate and unofficial biographer have taught me that our Leader has only two gears when it comes to romance: Fifth or Reverse. It’s either five-star hotels and rose petals at her feet or ghosting her for hours and tears before bedtime. Don’t get me wrong; as far as I’m concerned this doesn’t make him less desirable to anyone who has eyes in their head, but it _is_ funny. And it only makes him more lovable, my little superstar, my little slavedriver. It’s terribly cute to see him fail at _something_.

“I’m a great coach!” Jiyong is saying snappishly as I finish this thought, his arms folded grumpily inside the voluminous shirt sleeves that hide the dynamite outline of his body. “I taught him all he knows.”

“That’s true,” I acknowledge, throwing him a sweet grin – innocent joker, that’s me. “I learnt _so_ much about what not to do!”

“Like you’ve done any better,” snips Jiyong, as I knew he would. “You keep spilling stuff you’re clueless about,” he adds warningly, “and I’ll tell everyone a thing or two I _do_ know. And you’re not gonna like it!” The other three members are looking from one man to the other like they’re enjoying a championship tennis match – these gits love the Seungri Suicide Hour. They stare at me expectantly to see what incriminating thing I’ll say next.

“Hey, if I was a girl, I would think Jiyong was very lovely.” No lie there: it’s public knowledge that G-Dragon is the most exquisite creature in K-pop, and I’m not about to dispute the fact. “But I’ll tell you what happened,” I continue, and proceed to educate them all about Jiyong’s texting techniques and related dating fails. Jiyong looks mildly and amusingly incensed, hands restless in his bright yellow hair. He’s still smiling, but I know I’m treading a fine line now with my Leader’s renowned temper. But that just makes it more fun; hell, I haven’t been afraid of Jiyong since I was a teenager, I’m hardly about to start now.

“Careful what you say!” Jiyong warns me.

“I _said_ you were lovely.” I give him another shit-eating grin. “Can’t I finish?”

“Let him finish!” entreat the presenters, sniggering. So I do; I have a feeling this is going to be a memorable episode. The more we circle back to our dating lives the funnier it gets. They’re all joining in, even Tabi, and though I’ve had taken a few embarrassing hits I’m flying too high to care; not even when Jiyong snidely exposes my unrequited love affair – and that had been serious, that had hurt. How could I get offended? Of course Jiyong would take me down a peg; it’s what he _does_. But he’s far less used to having the tables turned on himself.

As I go on quipping I begin to sense Jiyong’s current brand of energy change. He’s quit firing back and I see him gradually draw away from the table to sit nearer Tabi, whose proximity becomes the official moody corner wherever he chooses to park himself in a room. I can feel Jiyong gazing at me; he seems thoughtful. He doesn’t look pissed or like he’s about to shout me down. If anything he looks…anticipatory.

That, now, that is freaky. I think I might be in for worse than a scolding once we’re done; so I wisely turn the joke back on someone else, and resolve to brace myself when the recording finishes. I already got scolded for literally nothing by YG via text this morning, mind you; another round won’t kill me! But maybe I can sweet-talk Jiyong out of it before things come to that…

 

“Sorry if I took it too far,” I tell Jiyong frankly, as soon as the recording is over. I’ve never been too proud to apologise; in fact I’d almost say it’s my default response around my _hyungs_ – I’ve nearly always done something to require it. For me, ‘sorry’ is something like the equivalent of a friendly ‘hello’. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” Jiyong hates that; he’s as touchy of his pride as a cat, and though I don’t actually think I said anything _so_ humiliating it’s sometimes better to apologise on approval. Just in case.

“Hmm,” says Jiyong. Now what does he mean by that?

“I was just kind of bothered, being reminded about that…thing last year. About her.”

And really? I’m not totally lying, even though I’m using it as an excuse to get out of trouble right now; I really was heartbroken – as I informed all my friends, and why not? – when the girl I thought I was dating turned out to be seeing someone else all along. I can handle it, of course, I can handle _anything_. I can even stand to have it joked about on national TV. But it’s still embarrassing, ‘cos I liked her so much, and it had been Jiyong who told me in the end that she didn’t care about me. So I could do with a bit of understanding at this point.

“Mm,” says Jiyong, and nothing else. He stands by and watches as I exchange grateful hugs with the passing makeup team before returning my attention to my Leader. I try granting him a sunny smile – maybe that’ll appease him. Jiyong gives me another appraising stare, then to my surprise turns on his heel and strolls off to tuck his arm through big Seunghyun’s, who is anxiously grilling the producer over how many of his awkward moments they can cut out of the edited broadcast. Jiyong rubs Tabi’s bicep soothingly, and I see the bigger man slowly chill out. Ooh, he’s good.

Nothing much else seems to be happening, so I heave a heartfelt and philosophical sigh – which nobody pays any attention to – and wander off to get changed. I guess I might have escaped Jiyong’s wrath after all; this is very jammy of me, and worth high-fiving my dressing-room mirror, which I do. Yay. On the other hand… I grab a wet wipe and begin to clean my face. On the other hand, I’m still smarting a bit over the public airing of my one-sided romance. I could really use a little of what Tabi’s getting right now: Jiyong’s arm in mine, the warmth of that skinny body against my side. Hell, even a pat on the head would do.

To put it simply, I want body contact. That sounds dirty, and maybe it is – you know me – but what I’m really talking about is receiving affirmation and sympathy from my Leader. Because Jiyong displays sympathy in a very particular way.

Jiyong’s touch _means_ something, and something far more important than the hit-or-miss gratification he doles out to his girlfriends on a Friday night. No, physical affection is the only thing Jiyong can use to _comfort_ people. He knows this. The man is useless at making anyone feel better the regular way: his tongue is too sharp, that whip-smart lyrical brain of his lost for words that won’t cut when his friends need to be soothed. By the time his buddy/colleague/loved one is in a state where they can’t be needled or bullied back to happiness, Jiyong doesn’t know what to say. It’s not that he doesn’t _want_ to help; it’s just that his mean Leader’s mouth won’t let him. And at that point he only has one resort: skinship. Extraordinary, no?

The extent to which he uses it depends on the loved one and their circumstances: a brotherly hug for Youngbae when he’s fighting with his girlfriend; a comfortable lean against Daesung when he’s missing his family on tour. And I suspect that for Tabi, whose deep and fragile psyche our Leader has known since adolescence, Jiyong gives his all – literally. I’ve seen it from way back: Jiyong slipping out of big Seunghyun’s dorm room licking his lips and looking both dishevelled and pleased with himself, or unobtrusively directing his driver to follow Tabi home when we know our _hyung_ has been having a difficult day. It’s all he has to offer.

Jiyong doesn’t talk about it; he gives his comfort the best way he knows how, and it’s no-one else’s business anyway. But I can see, I’m not that dumb; and dammit, I’m jealous – of all my fortunate _hyungs_ , and Tabi most of all. Because Jiyong _never_ gives me the same. Oh, I know he loves me, as much as he loves any of the others; but all I’ve got out of it in the last decade has been the razor edge of his tongue. At best when I’m genuinely in trouble I might get some constructive criticism; at worst it’s a thorough drubbing. The only time I feel the benefit of that sweet, affectionate body is in public. For _show_. And I want it for real.

“How’s that _fair_?” I complain to my reflection in my best Shakespearean soliloquy style, swiping off the last of my makeup and moisturizing the permanent shadows under my panda eyes. Am I not as cute as the rest of them?! Well, not in the same league as big Seunghyun, I can acknowledge that. But then Tabi is a special case in most respects, and him aside I’m just as appealing as the others! I try out a new pose and nod in satisfaction at my mirror double. Yep, I certainly am.

“I got enough problems, don’t I?” I continue my conversation with the empty room. If you go by the number of things Jiyong has ragged on me about during this recording, you’d think I was nothing _but_ problems. I can’t help thinking that, this being the case, I deserve just a little bit of Jiyong’s special brand of compassion. And yet all my body has received from my charming Leader today are the metaphorical punctures from a dozen barbed comments. Mean. Sometimes Kwon Jiyong is just plain mean!

“You’ve got some balls,” says Jiyong, appearing behind me in the mirror without warning like a reverse vampire. I physically jump – bugger me, my heart! – but he doesn’t laugh. “To be saying that out loud.”

“I did?!” Oops. Jiyong meets my eyes in the mirror, and uh-oh, there’s that expression that has warned me I’m in deep shit ever since the days I was a trainee and Jiyong really, sincerely disliked me. It’s not the look that tells me he’s about to shout the building down around my ears – I don’t mind _that_ , Jiyong’s flares of temper are spectacular but short-lived. _This_ look is _cold_.

“You’ve been particularly rude today,” he tells me coolly, standing on tiptoe to get those sharp white teeth worryingly close to my ear. “Flapping your yap about my love life.”

“I said sorry.” Guess I’m not forgiven after all. “But you were as well!” Crap. I think I said _that_ out loud too. Jiyong’s groomed eyebrow flicks up, presumably in incredulity at my nerve, and he rocks back down on his heels but continues to invade my personal space.

“ _Me?_ ” That is a worrying tone, and if I wasn’t feeling so put-upon over my sad destiny as the one friend Jiyong won’t touch, I would certainly not try to push it right now.

“I forgive you, though,” I say grandly and stupidly. Jiyong snorts. “Still, it was mean to tell the whole country she didn’t like me. I felt hurt. Can’t I get a hug?”

“Ex _cuse_ me?”

“Tabi got a hug.” I try the old pout and puppy-dog eyes; it does not sit well on my face. “And nobody was even mean to him!”

“Are you five years old?” enquires Jiyong, curling his top lip as he views my attempt to look adorable. “The last thing you’re getting is a _hug_.”

“Figures.” Am I actually being scolded here, or is it just banter? Either way, it’s depressing. Poor me! “You never touch me like the others. ‘ _Specially_ not like Tabi- _hyung_.”

Jiyong looks at me for a long minute, almost without blinking: a proven method of making me squirm.

“Hmm,” he says eventually. Then without further ado he turns his back on me and pisses off out of my dressing-room. Whoops again. I may have gone too far.

I’m trying to forget about my big mouth and am flopping around the room getting changed and being maudlin when the door opens and Jiyong slides back in like he’d not just buggered off mid-conversation at all. I peer at him warily as he closes the door. To my surprise (and some worry) I see him snap the lock.

“Don’t walk away from me, brat,” advises Jiyong calmly, in response to my unconscious attempt to sidle out of his reach. As most of my members would agree, my body is smarter than my brain, and it knows when my Leader is properly angry. I stop dead. Jiyong stalks closer until he’s nose to nose with me. “Turn round.”

“Huh?”

“Turn around.” I dunno what he’s up to, but he’s not messing about. I shrug and do as I’m told, and here I am in the mirror again, that scary beautiful face with its halo of bright hair popping up demon-like behind me. Jiyong is very slender, and even though I’m not much taller than him my body still blocks most of him from view; but as I’m waiting and debating whether I oughta brace myself in the crash position, I see a flash of red in his hands. I squint: that looks very much like the necktie Gu Ra-nim was wearing earlier. What the hell is _this_ , now?

“Hyungie,” I try. “Don’t you have something more fun to do than play dress-up with me?” Jiyong smiles sourly.

“Put your hands behind your back.” For a moment I can’t quite process that: in conjunction with the tie, it sounds far too like something I’d make up, possibly alone in my hotel room at night once the ten minutes of freeview porn runs out. “Do as I say,” insists Jiyong, raising his bossy little chin peremptorily. The line of that beautiful jaw is freaking magnificent; god, he makes me feel tubby. Jerk. Evidently I’m being too slow for him, ‘cos he gives me a pointed glare and the prickles in my back intensify as the air gets chillier.

“Jesus, all right.” I clasp my hands behind me, and the next instant I hear him snap the necktie taut between his fingers. I was half expecting it but I still twitch when I feel the silk against my wrists. Whatever Jiyong told Gu Ra-nim he wanted it for, I bet it wasn’t this! He fiddles around for a minute, pulling me this way and that in his efforts to tie a secure knot; I don’t know what he’s playing at, but my pulse is going like the clappers: I can feel it in my wrist against the strained fabric. “So what’s the deal?” I demand, feigning patience, once he’s done tying me up. “What’s step two of this weird-ass game?”

“ _Game_ ,” says Jiyong in a low, scornful voice. His slim fingers curl around my upper arms and I suck in a harsh breath as he tugs me back – he must have heard it because _now_ the fucker smiles, watching my face turn red in the mirror with obvious satisfaction. “You’ve got a twisted idea of fun if you think I’m playing around,” he adds, again with those teeth by my ear. For a second he tilts his head to inhale at the nape of my neck, the light dancing off his row of silver earrings; my eyes open mad wide and I know he sees it.

“What is it, then?” I ask, breathless. This isn’t the body comfort I was after, that’s for damn sure. I don’t know _what_ this is, but it’s freaky and titillating as all getout. Jiyong rests his forearms companionably on my shoulder-blades and leans on me like I’m an avant-garde piece of furniture.

“The reason I give Tabi what I give him,” explains Jiyong, not that I asked, “is that he needs the support. It’s my job as a Leader and a friend to provide it, and that’s the way that works best for both of us.”

“And me?” Do I sound jealous right now? I didn’t mean to, but I guess I do because Jiyong gives me a patronizing look and shakes his head. Fuck, he smells good, and regardless of the circumstances his body is finally in contact with mine, just the two of us – _way_ too much, he’s practically plastered against my back, my bound hands knocking the hard metal of his belt buckle. He must know how unnerving this is.

“You don’t need support,” Jiyong informs me. I open my mouth to start arguing, but he wraps both arms around me and I stutter into silence. “As your elder and better,” he confides in my ear, and my skin begins to shiver under the warmth of his breath, “I can tell you that what _you_ need is a lesson.” It might be easier to make a snappy comeback to this if I wasn’t suddenly hard in my damn pants, and in the circumstances the best I can come up with is:

“…Are you gonna punish me?” Jiyong catches my eye in the mirror and I spot one side of his mouth curl up in the wickedest smile I’ve ever seen.

“Oh, _yes_ ,” he breathes, and then his lips meet my neck. I immediately gasp and he tightens one arm across my chest, firm enough to keep me immobile – you’d never imagine this little string bean was so strong. His other hand glides over my abdomen and down past my belt; I groan as his fingers trace the outline of my hard-on in an exploratory manner, there and then gone just when I’m about to push into his touch. What the actual fuck is he thinking?! I wonder helplessly, before my own power of thought checks out and I’m left with nothing but apprehension and desire. He hasn’t stopped looking at me. He must enjoy seeing me freak out: his face is glowing with satisfaction, and he looks fucking sublime.

“I’m _seriously_ sorry, _hyung_!” I try once I catch my breath. I don’t know what ‘punishment’ entails or if it involves actually hurting me – feels like I don’t know this Jiyong at all! But at the same time all my thought processes can muster up is _don’t stop, please god don’t stop_.

He doesn’t. What he does do is grab the collar of my very new, very Tom Ford shirt and _pull_ , buttons pinging off like I thought you only see in movies – one almost takes my eye out – before pushing the fabric aside to rake his short nails down my torso like a small, enthusiastic tiger. I hiss and he kisses me again, the ticklish spot right beneath my ear, then smooths his hands across my chest in a way that would be sweet and teasing if he hadn’t just ripped five new red Made lines in my skin.

“Ow!”

“Hurts?” he asks, chin in the crook of my neck. I nod and he removes his hands.

“Not that much!” I add hurriedly, because _get those fine digits back on me!_ Jiyong chuckles darkly and declines to replace them. Instead he briskly spins me round and shoves me back a few steps to a clear bit of floor.

“Don’t move. Don’t speak. If you do I won’t touch you again.”

I shut my mouth and obey – I hope trembling with arousal doesn’t count. I’m rewarded when Jiyong licks his incredible lips and then momentarily disappears as he drags the five-sizes-too-big-but-it-cost-1000-dollars shirt over his head. He places it tidily on the sofa, neat freak that he is, and tugs off the turtleneck underneath. That leaves him half naked with his glowing hair mussed, just a silver chain and a pendant winking against his slender torso. Now, I see my Leader in various states of undress all the time, and while it’s always a pleasant sight it never makes my jaw drop like the vision before me right here.

“You wanna try for a dumber face?” says Jiyong unkindly, but I know him, the narcissist: he _loves_ being admired. This is presumably why he keeps going, easing off his pants, shoes and underwear almost in one elegant movement. Then he’s bare as the day he was born, pale as a lily under his tattoos, and if I thought I was hard before, my dick is about to let me know different. He stands and lets me stare at him – no, he _makes_ me. Not even a straight man (which I ostensibly am) could look away from a feast like this.

“ _Jiyong-_ ”

“What did I just say?” He steps forward, not unselfconsciously – he’s always aware of himself – but comfortable as if he was created to be naked. I tense up, and it’s soon justified when he thwacks me smartly on the abdomen just above my belt. I yelp and immediately his fingers are on the buckle, quickly, yanking open my buttons and zip with every appearance of eagerness. His lovely face still holds that superior, high-handed expression, but a faint flush is suffusing the skin across his cheekbones. I can’t tell if the pleasure is because he has me at his mercy, or because he’s maybe _excited_ at the prospect of getting my clothes off. But at this point what does it matter?

“Mmm.” Jiyong makes a mildly approving noise as my erection springs free. He doesn’t touch me (to my lack of surprise) but leans in to kiss my throat, lingering where my pulse races under the surface. “If you can keep still…” He lowers his head, yellow hair tickling my chin, and presses his lips to my sternum. “…And keep quiet…” He sinks to his knees and rubs his cheek against my belly like a kitten. “I might be persuaded to mitigate your punishment.”

“I-!”

“If not,” he murmurs, sliding his hands up my thighs, “I’ll happily leave you like this.” I shudder and his hands close strong on my hips. “And don’t fucking fall over!” he adds. Then his lush lips brush the head of my cock and I almost do just that; such a rush of giddiness to my brain! But I’ve pictured this scene so many times I’m not even guilty about it, and to _feel_ the reality of it – to feel Kwon Jiyong’s tattooed fingers cradle my dick while his pink tongue licks electric spirals around the tip – is almost mindblowing. I’ve got no idea how Jiyong does this with Tabi or how it helps, because this is the exact opposite of soothing.

“Hold tight,” whispers Jiyong, as if he hadn’t just tied my hands behind my back. I squeeze my eyes shut and grit my teeth expectantly, keep gritting them until it aches. Nothing. When I at last take a peek I see Jiyong smirking up at me, the smudge of precum on his flawless cheek in no way marring the perfection of his smug bastard face. I open my trap to yell at him and/or beg him to get on with it, but he shoots me a warning look and I shut it again with a snap. He laughs softly, parts his lips, and a second later I’m buried in the wet heat of his mouth.

“ _Mmph!_ ” is the best I can do at keeping quiet as Jiyong starts to blow me. For an instant I feel his teeth, and bloody hell, that’s unnerving; I resolve to try harder. All I can do is concentrate on staying upright and silent; the rest of my consciousness has tumbled down to reside in my cock – not surprising – to experience the hot, liquid depths of Jiyong’s throat. It’s magnificent, incandescent, and his clever fingers cupping my balls don’t do any harm either.

Jiyong is certainly not helping me follow his instructions: he’s not keeping still and he’s sure not keeping quiet. He’s taking me deep now, his tongue tracing artistic patterns along the shaft as he moves his head; with every stroke he lets out a faint moan of effort, which may or may not be calculated but doesn’t seem to matter given the effect on my libido. Every so often he breaks off to breathe and kiss my cock ardently before swallowing it down again as if it’s the most delicious thing one could possibly put in one’s mouth. His hands get a tight grip on my ass for purchase as he speeds up, squeezing until it almost hurts. But my body is distracted from all thoughts of buttocks and bruises when Jiyong’s elegant nose brushes my stomach, he’s taken me so deep. _This man is a fucking genius_ , I think, and it’s the last thought I have before my knees buckle under me.

“…Aahh!” exclaims Jiyong in surprise, catching me before I keel over and holding me precariously upright. And then, delighted, “I knew you’d be no match for me.” I blink down at him stupidly; I can’t process anything he’s saying, just that his light voice has turned hoarse and husky – and that it’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard. “Oh, for-” begins Jiyong, exasperated, as he gets a look at my face. “Get over here!” He moves sinuously to his feet and grabs me around the waist, hauling me over to the dressing-room sofa and shoving me ignominiously onto it with my pants round my ankles.

“Epic fail, Seungri,” Jiyong announces in that blowjob voice that I never heard until today but will imagine every night for the rest of my sexually active life. “A big loss of points there: can’t keep quiet, can’t stand up!”

“…Who the hell could under _that?!_ ” I pant. Jiyong sniffs.

“Lightweight.” He’s obviously flattered, though, because he doesn’t move to get dressed but instead climbs right into my lap, straddling my hips. I’m so hard for him now I think the rest of my body is beginning to suffer a blood shortage, and I snap my pelvis upwards to try and get some contact. “Uh-uh!” says my Leader and personal torturer, arms braced on the back of the sofa either side of my head and refusing to touch me. I glance down and see he’s erect too, although unlike me his brain still seems to be functioning.

“I’ve learnt my lesson!” I’m gonna explode.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” snaps Jiyong. I notice that his lips are even more cherubic than usual right now, red and tender; I have to kiss him! The little tease reads me and jerks his head back in a shimmer of silver bling before I can even move, and I snarl in frustration: he looks and smells so _good_ , and I know he’d taste good too. “Wanna win some points back?” he asks, brushing his thumb across my bottom lip. I wisely refrain from biting him.

“How?”

“Just last for…twenty minutes. That’s about how long it’ll take Daesung to flirt with the associate producer enough to get her number. I saw him eyeing her up.”

“Twenty minutes?” I reply breezily. “I can handle _that_.” I totally cannot handle that!

“We’ll see,” purrs Jiyong, divining my desperate state. He reaches over me and rummages around in his folded pants pocket. He holds up his find between two fingers, and I have another almost-heart-attack when I see it’s a condom and a sachet of lube, presumably stashed there in case our oldest member needs some emergency ‘comforting’. Oh holy shit, he wants somebody to fuck _somebody_ , and which way round really doesn’t matter right now because I’m suddenly at panic stations.

“You – I mean, you – are you _kidding_ me?!” I bellow eloquently, because there’s no way I’m good for twenty minutes of _that_ , not when I’m about to spontaneously combust just at the thought of it!

“Think calming thoughts,” Jiyong advises me with a complacent smile, and rips open the lube packet. I go rigid, transfixed as his slippery fingers travel down his slender body and disappear between his thighs. I remember to breathe again. “…Oh, you thought it was gonna be _you!_ ” says Jiyong, with a laugh that turns into a gasp as he slips one finger inside himself. I see him bite his full lip, and his exquisite face turning vulnerable may be the best thing I’ve ever witnessed. “…Don’t worry,” he manages, through rapid little breaths of enjoyment as he stretches himself. “Just watch me.”

I nod dumbly. I would give anything I own to touch him right now, to help open him up and hear him whimper that sweetly under _my_ hands. I give my bonds a surreptitious tug, but stop when he meets my eyes. He seems to like that, the rapturous attention, his dark irises turned black as his pupils dilate under my admiring stare.

“You ready?” he whispers, once his cheeks are pink and his skin is beginning to glisten. He looks painfully hard now too.

“… _Hyung_ , come _on_.”

“Fifteen minutes,” he says. His slick fingers touch my cock. “Get set.” He rolls on the condom without even looking; how many times has he done it like this, hypnotic gaze on the other guy’s face? “ _Go_ ,” breathes Jiyong, and sinks down onto me.

I groan out loud at the tightness, the heat of him, I’ve never felt anything like it. I can move my hips but Jiyong won’t let me set the pace; slowly, slowly he allows me to push into him, he’s biting his lip again hard, one arm around my neck and the other holding me down.

“Just…like…that,” mutters Jiyong, his eyes half closed above me. He raises himself up and begins to ride me like I’m his personal plaything, a tiny smile breaking out on his face at each perfectly angled thrust. I’m not doing a damn thing, you understand, just enduring it. What kind of superhuman could stand fifteen minutes of this?! I have to shut my eyes, his face is too erotic, the purity of his features belied by that wicked expression and the soft music of his moans. I desperately try to picture something unsexy: Daesung playing the drums naked does the trick for a bit, but the vision soon dissolves as I feel Jiyong’s damp forehead come to rest against mine.

“Panda…” he whispers breathlessly, and I open my eyes. You shouldn’t be able to make that word sound sexual, but trust the master to do it! His beautiful face is a bare inch away, looking affectionate and aroused in equal measure; I feel my dick throb excitedly at the same time as I make another bid to kiss him. I manage the most fleeting brush of his lips, and then he’s gone, pushing himself up and slowing the pace torturously.

That’s _it_ , I think feverishly, gasping after him; I’ve had enough! I don’t care what my Leader does to me if I fail this punishment game! Somehow I wait for Jiyong to settle back into his rhythm, wait for his eyes to slide closed. Then I begin a silent battle with the necktie binding my wrists. The crafty bastard puts up a good fight, but I swear I felt a bit of give a while ago and I’m determined to find it again. And after a good three minutes’ sweating and grimacing and almost dislocating my left shoulder I’ve done it! I’ve defeated my red silk nemesis.

“…!!” I move my arms from behind my back and immediately have to stifle a howl as my limbs change position and start to cramp, worst case of pins and needles I have had in my damn life but I’m free, I’m _free_ and my Jiyong is gonna get it now!

“ _Ahh!_ ” His eyes fly open at the touch of my hands on his narrow waist. “Cheating…!” he declares, outraged, but that’s hardly gonna stop me now. I drag my hands down to the sweet curve of his hips, pick him up bodily and push him down on his back on the coffee table in front of the sofa, couture magazines and TV schedules scattering like leaves. I’m still inside him, props to me; I lean over him, triumphant, and he’s scowling, trying not to laugh at my ridiculously proud expression. At last I can have a say in this. I bend down and before he can start complaining I kiss him, one hand in the small of his back to draw him towards me; his skin is milky-smooth, radiating heat. He doesn’t even try to protest, just parts his luscious lips and lets me taste him – although one hand does come up to grab my hair and twist until I yelp. He swallows the sound, mouth locked hot on mine until one of us has to breathe.

I heave in air, thrust into him and he cries out loud, god knows what they think is going on in here (I’m hoping that since this is a studio the walls are soundproofed). Jiyong gives me a wide-eyed look that’s half amazement and half challenge, and curls his plump thighs around my hips.

“Come on, then…!” he orders, chest rising and falling rapidly. Oh my dear god, this _man_. I grin at him, shake the sweat out of my eyes, and obey.

It doesn’t last fifteen minutes; I’ve stopped counting, but it _can’t_ – no-one could endure such an intensity of pleasure as Jiyong can bestow for that long. His limbs are tight around me, pulling me harder into him, a set of red nail marks in my shoulders to match the ones on my chest. He grits his white teeth and beams up at me as we increase the pace until I’m desperately gulping in oxygen in an effort to keep up with him, my hips striking his perfect ass with enough strength to make the table rattle.

“Come before me…” growls Jiyong, surging up to kiss me hard enough to bruise, “…and I’ll kill you!” Easier said than done. I let go of his right thigh and close my hand around his pretty cock, feel the heat pulsing beneath my fingers. Jiyong makes an incredible noise, keeping the rhythm for me while I stroke him into oblivion. He bites down in my shoulder as he comes, and it hurts like fucking hell but I can’t look away from his face when he throws his head back at the end, I never saw _anything_ like it.

It’s left me with teeth marks and my fingers sticky. I don’t care at all, all I can think about now is getting off. I see Jiyong purse his lips in a thoroughly endearing expression of concentration; he looks absolutely wrecked, but that doesn’t stop him tightening up around my cock, his fingers digging into my buttocks to drive me on.

“ _Come on, baby, come on, come on…_ ” he whispers in a maddening litany, cheek pressed against mine as I fuck him like it’s an Olympic sport. He laughs triumphantly and I feel my orgasm surging, hitting me in a burst of blinding white light. I hear myself groan helplessly, feel Jiyong’s arms around my back anchoring me, and after an eternity of pleasure I let out an ecstatic sigh and slump limply on top of him. For a minute he lets me lie there, his delicate fingers caressing the nape of my neck. Then:

“…Oh,” says Jiyong in that husky little voice, “get off me, you load!” But he doesn’t sound cross anymore.

I pull out of him carefully, give him a stunned, grateful kiss, and leave him looking debauched on the coffee table while I find a bin to dispose of the mess we’ve made. When I get back Jiyong has rolled onto his stomach and is draped across the table like a piece of classical art (the X-rated Roman kind). I would pay all the money from all the songs I ever recorded to get inside him again. He flashes me a self-satisfied smile that tells me he knows it.

“So,” says Jiyong, leaning his chin in his hand, “failed again. I’m gonna have to come up with a less enjoyable punishment.”

“You could tie me back up,” I offer indolently. To my surprise Jiyong gets off the table and pads across – limping only slightly – to retrieve Gu Ra-nim’s unfortunate tie.

“For starters,” he agrees, and before I know what I’m doing my hands are behind my back again. Jiyong makes the knot properly tight this time. I don’t see the point of it at this stage, but our Leader has to have his own way in the end. “Now,” Jiyong says, still panting. He begins to put his clothes on, much to my disappointment. “What was it you were moaning about before?” _Now_ he deigns to listen.

“Oh!” What was it again? Buggered if I know, Jiyong has fucked every coherent thought out of my head. Oh, right! “Body contact,” I tell him. Jiyong looks us both up and down, raises an eyebrow. “I meant before this,” I explain. “It’s not about sex. Well, not only sex. I mean…I just wanted some skinship!” Jiyong looks sceptical. “You’re so sweet to everyone else,” I accuse him, seeing as he does seem to be listening and I might not get another chance. “When they’re hurt, when they’re lost…why aren’t you like that with me? Even this…” This amazing, miraculous afternoon. “Even this was _punishment_. It didn’t have to be. It could’ve just been…affection.”

My Leader stares at me thoughtfully; for a moment I think I even spot a hint of tenderness. But:

“You dumbass!” says Jiyong, instantly bursting my bubble. He sits himself cross-legged on the table and looks at me as if I’m a certified imbecile. “Of course I don’t touch you to comfort you. You don’t need comforting!”

“Piss off.” _I’m_ the best judge of when I need comforting, aren’t I?!

“I mean it.” Jiyong’s stunning features drop into seriousness, which I was not expecting. “I _know_ you, Panda, I’ve grown up with you. And maybe you get hurt, yeah. But you’re never lost: whatever kind of maze you get yourself stuck in, you always manage to find your way out. By _yourself_ , without help.” I stare at him; he still looks earnest. “Don’t you know how amazing that is?” says Jiyong. “It’s the thing I admire most about you. You’re like one of those old kids’ toys: however far life pushes you, you bounce back upright again. You don’t need my help, you don’t need my comfort. I love that about you; I love _you_ for that.”

“I…” I can’t think what to say. I had no idea Jiyong thought this about me, or thought of me at all beyond scheming over how to keep me in my place!

“You do get it, right?” Jiyong seems doubtful of my intellectual capacity, as well he might after the session he just inflicted on me. “You’re all different, all of you. You don’t need me the same way Tabi does, and none of the others need me like you do.” I reflect on this, and as it appears quite complimentary to me I decide to accept it. Not that I have a choice, still being at Jiyong’s mercy both physically and hierarchically.

“Okay. Thanks, I think.” I’m pushing my luck here. “Just…can’t I get some body contact sometimes too?” He huffs. “Doesn’t have to be for comfort,” I say hurriedly. “It just has to be _you_.”

“Well…” Jiyong smirks. “You do always need taking down a few notches. Maybe the next time you get uppity I can punish you again.”

“I’ll start collecting humiliating stories right away!!”

“Ahaha.” Jiyong gives me a pitying look. “It’s your funeral!” He gets to his feet, lithe and perfect, and now I’m aware of him in a way I never was before. He leans down to plant one lingering kiss on my lips, then sashays over to the door.

“…Wait a minute!” I call belatedly as he unlocks it and slips out. “Wait, aren’t you gonna untie me?!” Jiyong pops his head back round the door, smoothing down his yellow hair with one of his pristine, ultra-camp gestures.

“ _Punishment complete_ ,” he says, and gives me a smile that is pure evil. Then he shuts the door on me.

 

So here I sit, nude, with naught to cover my shame but a ruined shirt and a cushion I managed to manouevre into my lap with my teeth, waiting for whichever hapless person is going to find me ( _please_ let it be my manager and not some poor female intern!). And seeing as this could take a while, let me ask you again:

_Was it worth it?_

**Author's Note:**

> So this was a double first for me: First time I've written a gift fic (with no other prompt than "Seungri"), and first time I've EVER finished a fic in under 24 hours. It was a good challenge and an interesting experience, and I'm glad I did it. (Plus it's nice to do something lighthearted - thanks Seungri! - as a break from the misery-fest that my other Bigbang saga currently is XD)
> 
> Happy birthday again!


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